Portrayal of an Empath in Sixteen Stages
by Ria
Summary: Sometimes, Hisoka mourns the man he might have been. Then he realises that perhaps the boy he turned out to be isn’t so bad, after all.


**Title:** A Portrayal of an Empath in Sixteen Stages  
**Author:** Ria  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine - all the manga-ka's. I just like playing with them. (g)  
**Rating:** R; sexual details, NCS details  
**Pairing:** Tsuzuki/Hisoka  
**Genre:** Angst, drama, romance  
**Summary:** Sometimes, Hisoka mourns the man he might have been. Then he realises that perhaps the boy he turned out to be isn't so bad, after all  
**Comments:** A birthday present for Kohakutenshi! (hugs) I hope you like it, dear, particularly since it took so long for it to be finished! (Also, it's Hisoka's birthday today! 24!) This is, at the very least, a character study on Hisoka. At the very most, people will like it. Also, I'm taking a lot of liberties with what Hisoka does and doesn't know concerning his family and the Gensoukai Arc in general... so please don't lynch me for butchering canon slightly. (g) Enjoy! 

**

Portrayal of an Empath in Sixteen Stages

**

**o n e**

Sometimes, Hisoka realises that he just doesn't care. The events in the land of the dead just pass him by like a Sakura blossom on a gentle breeze and he's content to just not give a damn. It is a foolish state of mind for one who has Tsuzuki as a partner, but even he needs a break now and then. 

On days when he is content to just watch the world go by, he sits at his desk with his chin resting on his hand, writing his latest report with only the faintest speck of attention as to what his pen is creating. He watches people walk back and forth through the office, talking, chattering and, in some cases, arguing. 

He watches Wakaba and Terazuma talk quietly amongst themselves, her with her beaming smile and him with his gruff, hidden kindness. Her eyes say what she cannot voice and his eyes reflect it, though everyone knows how they feel for each other, just as they know that the briefest touch will ruin the illusion once more with Kuro-chan's rage. 

Watari chatters amiably with a long-suffering Tatsumi, brushing his hair back with well-practised gestures as his eyes shine brightly from behind round-rimmed spectacles. Their slight gestures betray what they still won't admit to be true, and he finds watching their merry little dance to be most amusing. It almost makes him wish he had food to eat as the drama unfolds in daily episodes. 

Watching Terazuma and Tsuzuki clash is less amusing, particularly when their insults grow nasty and well below the belt. It's times like these that Hisoka feels the closest possible kinship with Wakaba as they struggle to keep their respective partner under control. Wakaba and he are linked with the common factors of both being the physically youngest Shinigami in the division, as well as having partners who… do not like each other. These are both strong factors to have in common with someone else, and Hisoka suddenly wonders why he does not talk with Wakaba more. 

Then Tsuzuki appears in his line of vision, his purple eyes bright and sparkling and a broad grin on his face. He greets him cheerfully, a laugh bubbling from his throat as he leans against Hisoka's desk and crosses his arms in a relaxed, languishing pose. It doesn't seem to matter that he's just received another half-hearted tongue-lashing from Konoe-Kacho on his reckless waste of division funds; tonight, he is going to dinner with Hisoka and they even have enough money for dessert, and that is enough to make him laugh and smile. 

But Hisoka remembers the demons that lurk in those purple depths, and the invisible blood that shines on those slim hands, and remembers the countless tears that Tsuzuki has shed for those he has killed and still mourns. Behind that wild laugh lurks an anguished scream that goes unanswered and unheard, one that will echo for eternity, until Tsuzuki is finally forgiven for the crimes he committed in his life. 

But, despite all of this morbid thinking, Hisoka can't help but return Tsuzuki's smile with a hesitate one of his own. Because on days like these, when he's content to sit and watch everything go by, making Tsuzuki happy is the most important thing to him. And if ignoring all that is blatantly wrong in their lives is the way to make Tsuzuki happy, then so be it. 

He will be a good partner, a _true_ partner. 

* * *

**t w o**

His days are now made up of pain – constant, endless pain that's etched into his bones and in his psyche and never truly goes away. He has learned to deal with it, but will never accept it. 

Sometimes, he has vague flashes of a moonlit night of scarlet, of falling Sakura petals brushing his bared skin. Of a man who looks like an angel but with the eyes of a demon kissing him and caressing him and then – it all fades into darkness and he can't remember whatever it was. 

The doctors don't know what's going on, of that he's certain, with their white, sterile coats and shining clipboards, and puzzled, worried expressions. Then they smile fake little smiles and tell him of all the advances they just recently made in diseases such as his, and, of course, they're making progress with his own, er, illness… 

The nurses are far worse, however. The nurses openly stare and whisper among themselves when they think he's asleep, before turning and smiling brightly, cooing how wonderful the morning is and isn't it such a beautiful day to be alive? It makes Hisoka want to curl up again and cover his head with his pillow. He imagines he must look terrible after three years of gradually succumbing to an illness that no one can diagnose, but he refuses to think about it all that much. To think like that is to embrace madness, and he wants to hold on to what little sanity he still holds, thanks very much. 

He hasn't seen his family in years, but finds it difficult to remember what they look like, so there's no point missing what he can no longer remember. Sometimes, he even dreams of a girl who responds to his name and a scale-like creature that encircles his father, but then the picture vanishes and he's left gasping in sudden reality with a cold sweat clinging to him. 

Once, Hisoka didn't want to die, but that time is long past. Nothing can be worse than this never-ending agony, and death is a welcome embrace to everlasting peace that he will gladly accept. 

* * *

**t h r e e **

Tsuzuki Asato was, at first, an incomprehensible idiot who was his _partner_. Now, he is an enigma that Hisoka is only slowly beginning to figure out. Work was once a duty that he had to do because it was his only way to find out his murderer; now, it is a duty to find out what haunting secrets his partner holds behind his laughing mask. 

Tatsumi, he suspects, knows much that he will not tell, as does Konoe-Kacho. Slips they've made while under stress have given him many hints to his partner's past, but he will not admit that. No, they must tell him first, unless the situation concerning Tsuzuki is dire, in which case all bets are off and, by Enma, he will find out. 

Hisoka swore to himself that he would never care for someone like he now cares about Tsuzuki. Even now, he still waits for the time when it will all tumble down around his ears. 

Tsuzuki, with his cheerful smile and hidden shadows; his smiling eyes and tortured tears as he avoids paperwork, eats too many sweets, and effortlessly annoys him to no end. Once, Hisoka hated coming into work because it meant another day with this obviously insane slacker, but now... now, he looks forward to it because it means he will learn something new about his partner. 

Tsuzuki always starts on the right side of his dessert; he chews his pen in a certain way when he _really_ doesn't want to do paperwork; he turns serious when he writes new fuda, his hands calm and graceful, his boundless energy focused into something important and meaningful to both of them. 

Hisoka knows all that and more, all because of careful stares and quick glances when his partner isn't looking. 

It probably makes him to be yet another of Tsuzuki's stalkers, but he finds he doesn't particularly care. Surely he can't be a stalker when Tsuzuki trusts him so? 

… right? 

* * *

**f o u r**

When Hisoka was young, but not very young, he often brought his mother the Sakura blossoms that grew on the Kurosaki estate that she hated. He was young and foolish and knew no better, but he suffered her rage anyway, because she was his mother and was supposed to love him and forgive him his mistakes – but she never did, and soon he began to not care. 

He was the family's heir, as his father constantly told him, though he often spoke the word with poison and much regret. Hisoka had an heir's proper education for his station and grew to have an extensive love of books, though as the years passed he began to be given fewer and fewer, and reading became something longed for instead of an enjoyable way to pass the never-ending time in banishment. 

Once, Mama loved him. Once, he was Mama's special boy, but then he, being the innocent little child he was, naively asked her why she was sad, when he had no way of knowing by natural methods. Then he was no longer Mama's special boy. Now, he was a monster, something to be ignored and hared and feared, and he grew cold because no loved him anymore. The books he so loved to read became his friends, until they, too, left him. 

Monster-child. Demon-child. Monster, monster, horrible, inhuman, _not my child_! The words echoed in his mind again and again, laced with pain, denial and fear, and he didn't want to hear this, but he couldn't stop it, and please, please stop it! 

He cried sometimes, but eventually he grew not to care and he stopped crying. 

It was dark in the cell and the fear nearly drove him to outright panic when he was a child, but the current servant taking care of him was old and forgetful, sometimes letting the door to his cage and the cellar door open. Hisoka never took advantage of the opportunity at first, preferring to bide his time until the urge to escape overwhelmed him and he _had_ to go outside to fresh air and pretend to be free. 

He walked through the grounds of the cursed, macabre estate that would one day be his, breathing in the cool night air as he looked in the direction of the town he and his family were sacrifices for, and a small part of his mind whispered what death at that moment would be like. 

Hisoka pushed the thought away quickly; despite his general situation, he had no wish to court death at the age of thirteen; he still firmly believed that there was a way to make everything better. He just hadn't found it yet. 

He wandered over to the Sakura tree at the farthest corner of the estate, to the flowers that all but he in his family hated. He looked up and was disturbed to see that the moon had turned crimson… a harvest moon… a dangerous moon. 

His gaze landed on two people standing under the tree, too far to make out from this distance, and he found himself unable to stop walking towards them. 

At that moment, he walked towards death and did not know, but perhaps if he had, part of him would still have made him continue to walk. 

* * *

**f i v e**

It rains and rains and rains. For days afterwards, it rains. 

Hisoka can't understand it, since Watari told him that it hardly ever rains here. It reminds him of the day before he started work as a Shinigami, which isn't something he particularly wants to remember. He was full of so many tentative hopes and dreams, most of which came to nothing. And then he learned who killed him and it all went downhill from there… 

A blood-red moon and falling Sakura trickle through his mind, but he quickly pushes them away and focuses once more on the rain. 

Except then there's Tsuzuki in his mind, and Hisoka realises that he _really_ doesn't understand. 

It's strange how much his view on his partner has changed. Before he met Tsuzuki, he thought his partner was one of the elite, someone to be in awe of and that he'd be proud to be partnered with. Then he actually met Tsuzuki and… well, that myth was shot to nothing. 

But, he's realised, Tsuzuki really is someone to be in awe of, someone whose level he aspires to reach someday. After working a case with him, Hisoka's view is starting to change. It had to happen, of course, since he had to see that Tsuzuki isn't a complete _all_ of the time. Well, he has an incorrigible sweet tooth and he's an incredible slacker, but… he _cares_. 

_"Because you're my partner."_ That's what he said, that's why he came to save Hisoka from Muraki, when all the others before him just wouldn't have given a damn. 

Hisoka remembers that he said something in reply, but he can't remember exactly what. What he does remember is that while he spoke to Tsuzuki in a cool, calm voice as his wounds slowly healed, inwardly his mind had become a gibbering mass of disbelief and shock. 

_He… gives a damn_, is what Hisoka remembers thinking. 

* * *

**s i x **

The man is certainly the strangest that Hisoka has ever seen – long, wavy golden hair; wickedly dancing amber eyes behind round spectacles, a little owl fluttering by his shoulder, and… it's then that Hisoka realises that the man is dangling from an upper cabinet that no one could possibly reach without the aid of a chair. 

"Uh… excuse me?" he begins hesitantly, blinking, "but who are you?" 

The man glances up from a sheet of paper and beams. "Ah, you're awake! I'm Watari Yutaka, pleased to meet you!" He beams again, until he realises that Hisoka's staring at him in an _And I'm supposed to know you – how?_ sort of way. Watari coughs, his expression growing serious. 

"I see. You haven't realised yet, then, have you?" When Hisoka continues to stare at him blankly, he adds in a surprisingly gentle voice, "You don't feel any more pain, yes?" 

Hisoka frowns for a moment, before his eyes widen and his mouth opens in a little 'o' of surprise. He feels as close to normal as he could ever be, he supposes, since all the pain is gone. The thought leaves him not a little frightened, though he's not sure why – surely he should be happy? 

But the doctors were unable to find a cure, Hisoka remembers, his fingers clenching into fists. They told him so himself; his strange powers picked up the hints of a slow death for him in their thoughts and emotions. So… if all the pain is gone then that means he's… he's… 

"I'm sorry," Watari murmurs, confirming his suspicions. His eyes are downcast, refusing to look at him just as the nurses and all the others refused to look at him, as if he were something filthy, unclean. Hisoka feels his eyebrow twitch as he struggles to suppress the sudden rage inside him. 

"I don't believe you!" he snaps, ignoring all the evidence that points to the opposite conclusion. 

Watari raises an eyebrow. "Look below, then," he says simply. 

Hisoka looks down, gasping as he realises he's now four feet off the floor. Staring down at himself who's lying so, so still in the hospital bed. "No… no way," he stammers, but a little voice is whispering in his head that he was never good at denial to begin with, so… 

Nothing is said for several moments, as the silence deepens. Then Hisoka mutters, "Just get it over with. Lead me on, then, or whatever way you intend on doing it." 

"Um, well, you see…" Watari absently fiddles with his hair as he fidgets. "It's not as simple as that." 

Hisoka closes his eyes. "It never is." 

Watari sighs, but nevertheless continues to speak, "I'm actually here by request of the Chief and, well, I don't normally do this sort of thing, which is why I'm completely messing it up, I mean, normally it's Tsuzuki since he's good at this leading-people-on thing, while I'm just –" 

"Could we get to the point by any chance?" Hisoka interrupts, trying to be polite and failing, since run-on sentences seem to be a bad habit of this clearly bizarre person. 

"Oh, right! Sorry!" Watari exclaims sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "As I was saying, well… it's actually very complicated, you see… for one thing, you've actually been dead for three years," 

"…what?" Hisoka asks, staring at him, convinced that this was now some sort of terrible joke by a man with a terrible sense of humour. He would nearly have been convinced of it, if not for the fact he could see his body below him being very, very dead. 

"You've been down on the Kiseki as deceased for three years. No one can quite figure out how we missed it until now, especially since you only seemed to have died a few minutes ago, by all standards," Watari explains, twisting a strange of gold around his finger rather desperately. 

Hisoka stares at him, unable to say anything as nothing can be said. It seems even death can't be simple for him, now. 

"It wasn't illness, was it?" he whispers after a while, realising that his life is slipping away from him again, just like it did when his family left him in the hospital and never returned, everything out of his control and out of his hands. 

Watari shakes his head. "It doesn't seem to be, no. The evidence seems to point to some sort of death curse…" As his words trail off, Hisoka flinches, his hand splaying against his chest as fire suddenly races through his veins. "Kurosaki-kun?" 

They can only watch in horror as lines of burning crimson spiral across his skin, macabre ribbons of blood that fell once and was never again remembered. Hisoka shakes his head as the familiar flickers of a blood-red moon and falling Sakura flash through his mind, memories that are half-grasped and immediately fall through his fingers again. "Who did this to me?" he whispers, staring at his arms in horror. 

"We're not sure," Watari admits, reaching up to stroke 003 as she fluttered anxiously on his shoulder. "But," he adds, his heart sinking as he realises the Chief's plan is going to work, after all, "there is a way you can find out. It's really why I'm here, actually…" 

Hisoka turns to look at him, emerald eyes seeming to pierce right through to his soul. For a moment, Watari feels like all the ugly secrets from his past are revealed to this strange, poor boy. 

"I'm listening," Hisoka says. 

* * *

**s e v e n**

The man was beautiful in an ethereal sort of way: silver hair; pale gaze, marble skin – he was perfect in every way. But his eyes, Hisoka realised, were so, so cold. Cold as ice, in fact. As the man (_murderer!_) stared at him, Hisoka felt his chest tighten in an automatic reflex. 

_A terrible, terrible relish a lust for blood, if not flesh – and a nature that simply did not care for the consequences._

Hisoka looked into those cold, pale eyes, and swore that he would never again wander through the grounds alone if he survived this encounter. From now on, he would be a good boy, a proper boy, a boy who wouldn't be strange, or a monster-child. He wouldn't hear or feel things that he wasn't supposed to anymore, he promised. 

_Please, someone come, some help me, HELP!_

He found that he still screamed, both mentally and vocally, even though he knew on one would come. Only he was foolish enough to wander around the grounds at night on his own. Why would anyone else be out? 

He realised later that this was the moment that the last of his faith in people in general withered and died, not to be resurrected again until he met Tsuzuki. 

Even worse was the man's twisted sense of pleasure, crawling in through gaps in his barriers, tainting Hisoka's thoughts and emotions. He would have liked to have been able to blame Muraki's for what he felt, would have liked to have been able to look back later and say _He made me feel like I did_, but he knows he can't, knows that it happened, knows that he couldn't have stopped it, and hates him. 

When Muraki kissed him, Hisoka tried to bite him. He got hit for his efforts. When he kissed him again, Hisoka let him, and hated himself for it. When Muraki touched him between his legs, Hisoka squirmed and hated him all the more. When Muraki ripped through him and kept doing it, Hisoka screamed and cried. Still, no one came. Still, Muraki kept on going. 

And when he picked up the knife and started trailing it across Hisoka's chest, Hisoka wished to die. He wished that Muraki would kill him, as slow as it might be, and let him escape from this torture. 

Perhaps, if he'd know what would happen (or, more precisely what _wouldn't_ happen), he would have phrased it differently… much differently. 

_A broken doll_, Muraki called him. Useless, obsolete, worthless. 

Hisoka swore, just before the darkness took him, that he would never be weak again. And he _wasn't_ broken. 

* * *

**e i g h t**

Tsuzuki's mouth is between his legs and Hisoka feels like he's dying. 

Well, he feels like he's dying in a good way, if there is such a thing like a good death, and judging by the frantic writhing and the desperate sounds flooding from his mouth, his body agrees with him. He pants, moans and gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as he tosses his head from side to side, sweat-soaked hair falling into his closed eyes and making them itch. 

Nonsensical sounds bubble from his lips, scattered with mumblings of "Tsuzuki!" for good measure. Tsuzuki's emotions – (_I want him I love him I need him_) – squirms through his shields and make things even worse; his hands are smooth and warm. 

If he's not careful, thoughts of Muraki and a scarlet moon invade his mind, but Tsuzuki's presence and happiness chase them away until they're a bare flicker in the back of his mind. It doesn't make him forget or forgive, but it _does_ make him feel better. 

Tsuzuki suddenly _hums_ and a strangled sound escapes from Hisoka's mouth as he arches in response to the fire lancing through him. He tangles his fingers in Tsuzuki's silky-soft hair and it takes him several moments to realise that he's _begging_. 

_(More want need you Enma help me I need you I love you I can't remember what I was like before you)_

The pathway to completion, Hisoka realises, is through Tsuzuki's mouth on him and _humming_. 

"Tsuzuki! I – I –!" he gasps, clenching his fingers in his hair and then abruptly letting go when he realises that he unintentionally hurting Tsuzuki. "I'm sorry! But I – I –!" 

_I never thought it would be like this!_

Tsuzuki presses his tongue harder and Hisoka can only moan harder as the pressure grows in his groin and stomach. His gasps grow more sporadic and frant8ic, but Tsuzuki refuses to stop, even as Hisoka's writhing grows worse. 

The pressure grows and grows, a trembling cup about to spill over, as he shivers and writhes. Hisoka can only cry out as he arches one last time, the muscles in his thighs twitching. "Tsuzuki! Tsuzuki!" 

Tsuzuki hums again, just as the cup spills over and his mind explodes. Hisoka screams, colours dancing before his eyes as he bucks once, twice and again. "_Tsuzuki!_ TSUZUKI!" He collapses against the sheets, boneless and spent, as he waits for normal feeling to return. 

Later, when his heart isn't racing and his body has returned to working order, Tsuzuki crawls up beside him and nestles in against him, sated and exhausted. He sprawls a leg and an arm over Hisoka, pulling him close. He kisses him shyly, and Hisoka finds himself excited as he tastes himself in Tsuzuki's mouth. 

"So," Tsuzuki whispers after a few moments, brushing his lips against Hisoka's temple, "was it the same as with Muraki?" 

The seconds tick by, but Tsuzuki's patient. At last, Hisoka shakes his head. "No," he replies softly, "it wasn't." 

* * *

**n i n e**

He woke up to pain. 

It wasn't a very sharp pain, until he finally focused properly as the fog of sleep completely cleared from his mind. As he blinked, trying to figure out why he was lying underneath the Sakura tree, the dull throb suddenly changed to a lancing jab that made him flinch, involuntarily curling up into a foetal position. 

_Hurts… oh, Kami-sama, it hurts…_

The Sakura danced before him in a pink softness, landing on him with a gentle kiss. He blinked hazily, wondering why it was such an effort to keep his eyes open. Then he looked up, found an impassive silver gaze on him, and remembered. 

_Sakura, red moon, wet lips, come, blood, curse, pain, whimpers, screams, laughter, whispers_

_No!_ Hisoka's eyes widened and he tried to get up and run, to get away, but he found no strength in his body, merely a bone-deep weariness, and stayed where he was. 

_He's going to kill me,_ he thought, deliberately ignoring anything that had been said the night before. _Now, he's going to finish the job._

He found that, unlike the previous night, he no longer felt any fear. 

But when he blinked again and the man reached down and hauled him onto his unsteady feet, Hisoka suddenly realised that he did still fear some things when he realised the man was taking him back to the house. His breath caught in his throat and he struggled to stay where he was, but the (beautiful) man propelled him forward, a tinge of impatience assaulting Hisoka's mental barriers. 

It was hell on his battered body as the man dragged him back into the house, startling servants who stared at the man with wide, adoring eyes. Then their gazes drifted to Hisoka, immediately changing from admiration to chock and disgust that was quickly hidden – but Hisoka could sense their revulsion anyway, realising exactly how he must appear to them: dirty, taken, and exhausted. But what else did they expect from a monster-child, after all? 

The servants quickly relieved the man of his burden, washing Hisoka clean with a palpable air of disgust clinging to the steam and water. They bundled him in a new yukata and left him for a few moments before they would take him back to the cell. 

_And the pretty doll, now broken, returns to its gilded cage of confinement._

The voice, sharp and brittle, yet smooth, drifted trough his mind with an after-current of mocking laughter. Hisoka, jerked out of his numbed stupor, looked about him wildly and felt some part of him freeze and die when his gaze fell upon the silver angel-demon standing in the doorway. 

For a moment, Hisoka could only stare, stunned, before his mind kicked into survival mode and he scrambled back, almost slipping in his haste. 

_Stay away from me please oh please STAY AWAY_

But the man only chuckled, his eyed coldly amused. "Don't worry," he said. "It is over – for now. But…" 

Part of Hisoka – the part of him that had locked itself away from the pain and stayed relatively safe – flared to life and he snapped, "What? What's going to happen?" 

It seemed like he blinked and suddenly the demon-man was standing before him. Hisoka's eyes widened and he took a step back, but the man caught his arm and pressed the fingers of his other hand against Hisoka's forehead at the same time. 

Blinding agony instantly filled Hisoka's body, a bone-wrenching pain that made Hisoka bite his lip until it bled to keep from screaming. As he gasped, deep crimson flared on his body through the yukata. 

"It's time for you to forget, my little doll," the man purred, "until I decide it's time for you to remember once more." 

Silver filled Hisoka's vision through the red pain-fog, silver that was gradually replaced by a darkness that sucked him under until he knew no more. 

When he woke up, he remembered nothing. 

* * *

**t e n**

He's drunk much more than is proper, but he doesn't care. If he can't match Tsuzuki in power, the least he can do is match him in his ability to have an iron stomach. Trouble is, he's not really succeeding in that, either. The story of his afterlife. 

The sake still burns, his head is still fuzzy, and his body is starting to grow numb – all is right with the world. Hisoka tips back his head, draining the last of his current glass in a quick swallow. He places the glass carefully back onto the table, since his eye-hand coordination isn't the best right now… if Tsuzuki could see him now. Hisoka sighs. 

Today, Hisoka is twenty-eight. This is his fifteenth year of death and his twelfth as a Shinigami. This is also the tenth year since Kyoto, when he almost lost Tsuzuki, and the ninth since Tsuzuki smile at him and told Hisoka that he loved him. Hisoka sighs again. 

Cool fingers gently lift the sake bottle and fill the glass again, Hisoka blinks, before lifting his eyes to look up at Tsuzuki, who smiles at him. "I thought it was my job to get drunk on anniversaries," he says. 

Hisoka shrugs, accepting the glass when Tsuzuki hands it to him, immediately taking another swallow. Now, he suddenly understands why Tsuzuki loves it so much… it can be quite addictive when one is depressed… 

Tsuzuki sighs softly, before reaching over and kissing Hisoka on the forehead. "Happy Birthday, Hisoka." Then he takes a swig of the bottle and kisses him on the lips. The taste of sake mingles in their mouths. 

Hisoka should be grateful. He has a job, a Shikigami, and a partner who loves him. He has true friends, something he never had while alive – a family. So, why, on his twenty-eighth birthday, is he slowly but surely getting drunk? 

The answer is quite simple. Because as each year passes, part of him still can't help mourning the man he _might_ have been. 

But then he remembers what happened to his father, and decides that the boy he turned out to be isn't so bad at all. 

* * *

**e l e v e n**

When he was a child, still viewed as normal and not as the monster he turned out to be, Hisoka's parents loved him very much. His mother would sit him on her lap, running her fingers through his hair, and sing to him very softly. She would kiss him on the forehead and tell him she loved him, her special little boy. 

He mimicked his father when he was young, much to his father's delight and his mother's exasperation. Every hand gesture, every particular turn, every certain tap of the chopsticks – it was all done with a child's precision to imitation. Only his lack of height prevented Hisoka from mimicking his father's walk. 

Of course, he still remembers the visits to his sister's grave and the sad expression in his father's eyes, as he poured the water over the grave-marker. His father's sadness would make his heart hurt, but Hisoka never said anything, not wanting to intrude on his father's grief. He still remembers the horror he felt when his father answered his question and told him this was his grave. He learned the truth later, of course, of his-but-not-his grave and accepted that his sister would always have been the first-born… but it did not stop the jealousy from creeping through his veins like a snake. 

He never intruded on his father's sadness, but he, sadly, never made the same decision for his mother's. This thoughtlessness, he realised later, would be the beginning of the end of his childhood, of this idle dream shadowed by family secrets and whispers that made no sense. 

He remembered gripping her hand… 

_"Mama… why are so sad?"_

…her surprise, gradually replaced by revulsion… 

_"How do you know I'm feeling sad, Hisoka?"_

…his confusion, the simply confusion of a child who knows something is wrong and wants to fix it… 

_"I just do, Mama. Can I make you feel better?"_

…and later, the cell. 

The bars seemed to absorb every mocking laugh, distasteful sneer, and hysterical scream and insult thrown at him. He remembered curling up in a little ball, his hands pressed against his eyes. 

_I can't hear anything anymore, Mama, Papa. I can't feel anything anymore. Please – let me out!_

It rarely happened, but sometimes it did. And each time he returned to the cell, Hisoka swore that next time would be different. Next time, he wouldn't be so weak. Next time, he wouldn't hear or feel _anything_. 

* * *

**t w e l v e**

The day is like any other in the eternal spring of Meifu – except for one small detail. 

Today, Hisoka would have been twenty-one, had he lived. 

He treats it like any other day: going into work; grumbling over his tea; seething at Tsuzuki and Terazuma's latest argument. He doesn't mention that it's his birthday, and no one remembers to remind him. He tells himself that he's quite relieved, actually, considering the fuss they made over his previous ones, but it doesn't make him feel any better. 

But he does notice that everyone's attitudes toward him are more cheerful than usual, and Tatsumi isn't even complaining about the buildings Tsuzuki destroyed last week. The Gushoushin offer him a pile of new books that just came in and refuse to make him choose. 

And when he looks up to find Tsuzuki watching him with shining eyes and a broad smile, he knows, then, that no one has really forgotten, and berates himself for his foolishness. 

It isn't mentioned until that evening, when Tsuzuki catches up with Hisoka at the front steps, enveloping him in a hug from behind. Hisoka turns in his arms and leans up on tiptoe to kiss him. 

"Oi, we have a restaurant reservation, you know!" he declares, hugging Hisoka close. Hisoka doesn't complain; Tsuzuki is warm and smells like cinnamon. "And _I'm_ paying for dessert!" he adds. 

"For once?" Hisoka teases, but allows Tsuzuki to tug him down the steps. 

"And afterwards, there's a _party_ for you! Everyone's coming; after all, twenty-one is an important age!" Pause. "Well, I wasn't supposed to tell you, but…" 

As Hisoka finally smiles, Tsuzuki's eyes shine brighter, almost like jewels. 

* * *

**t h i r t e e n**

The night air is crisp and fresh and would have been perfect if not for the moon glowing overhead. Hisoka still stares up at it, hypnotised by its brightness, the memories of that night running wild through his mind. He relishes it, however, conscious of all the time he _didn't_ remember all of this. Even if Muraki's actions still torment him, he feels much stronger by knowing about them, at least. 

_It's a pity the stars aren't out_, he muses, absently burrowing his hands into his pockets. The night would be complete, then. He likes the stars, likes watching them as they flicker and twinkle. They remind him of Tsuzuki's eyes, even though Tsuzuki's eyes look more like bruises right now. 

The others are inside with him, fully intent on their celebration party now that Tsuzuki has been through the worst of his recovery, physically speaking. Everyone knows better than to think his emotional wounds will heal faster than that. No one will go back to Kyoto for a while, Hisoka thinks ironically. Not even Muraki. 

Things would be so much easier if he were dead, so, so much easier. It doesn't seem fair that he managed to survive even Touda's flames. But he'll stay away for a while, hopefully, to recuperate and plot the next attempt. Hopefully, recovery will take him a long, long while. 

Hisoka knows he'll need a lot of time to make Tsuzuki smile again. 

Oh, he's plenty of smiles, now, when people are around. The usually ones made of lies and false assurances (_I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry about me!_) that Hisoka has learned to hate. But to see a real smile… that will take time. 

Thankfully, Hisoka never could resist a challenge. 

_I have to protect him_, he thinks, still staring up at the sky. _I have to; it's my job, now. He's always protected me far too much, and look where it nearly got him. So… it's my turn, now. _

He recognises Tsuzuki's footsteps immediately and says the first thing that pops into his head. "Muraki's still alive." He tolls up the sleeve of his shirt to prove the point, almost emotionless now at the sight of the glowing ribbons of fire and death. 

Tsuzuki doesn't seem all that surprised, either, to be honest. "We'll beat him," he says confidently, turning to look up at the sky, too. "Together, we'll find a way." 

And, staring up at the moon, Hisoka finds himself able to believe Tsuzuki's words, even for that single moment. 

_But I'll still learn to protect you, now, instead of the other way round. _

__

* * *

**f o u r t e e n**

He feels like an intruder, coming upon them and breaking the haze of comfortable silence and safety they've built up around them, but he has no choice. Tsuzuki would argue that he always has a choice, but sometimes, it's just better not to listen to him. 

Tsuzuki is the first to look at him, teacup hovering at his lips and Sakura in his hair. "Hisoka!" he cries, his face lighting up as he smiles. Tatsumi now looks up, sipping his tea with the air of calmed indifference that always surrounds him. It's very hard to see anything more in his manner, any deeper feeling, but they can: Tsuzuki, because he's spent so much time around him; Hisoka, because he knows what to look for. 

"Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi murmurs, greeting him politely, as always. "What brings you here?" 

Hisoka hovers. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he apologises, "but Konoe-Kacho wants to see you, Tsuzuki. Right now." 

Tsuzuki, wailing over his lukewarm tea and unfinished cake, reluctantly goes off in the direction of the Chief's office. Hisoka turns to go, but is stopped by Tatsumi, who tells him to sit down. Reluctantly, Hisoka obeys. 

"Tea?" Tatsumi asks, and Hisoka nods. He takes the automatic sip as silence falls. Tatsumi is the usual black hole as he always is, the stark reminder Hisoka gets that he relies too much on his empathy to read other people. With Tatsumi, he must rely on slight expressions – the tightening of his eyes and mouth, the quirking of his lips in a smile, the darkening of his eyes in anger or grief. It's more work, but the goal of ultimately understanding Tatsumi just a little more is a worthy reward. 

"I'm glad that you're helping Tsuzuki feel better," Hisoka says at last, keeping his eyes fixed on the tea. His face, blurry in the warm depths and laced with faint steam, stares back up at him, wavering and warped in its reflection. "He looks forward to this time with you very much." 

"I'm glad," Tatsumi replies, his expression composed and calm, but Hisoka can see the tightness around his eyes lessen slightly, and knows that he is pleased. They retreat back to relaxed silence, until the secretary adds, "But most of the progress is due to you, Kurosaki-kun." 

Hisoka shifts slightly in his seat; they've had this conversation before at Hakushaku's tea party, when Tsuzuki managed to get himself sucked into that idiotic book, and he's still not entirely sure what Tatsumi said to him then really means. And sometimes, it feels like he's not helping Tsuzuki, at all, and that Tatsumi just seems able to do a far better job than him. But he knows better than to say this because he'll know Tsuzuki will glomp him and tell him he's the best partner ever and that Tatsumi will say something much the same (albeit in more normal tones), and he doesn't want that. He doesn't need their assurances; he wants to make his own. 

"You help him a great deal," Tatsumi continues, heedless of Hisoka's personal feelings on the subject. "Tsuzuki respects you a great deal and, more so, he _listens_ to you. He trusts your judgement on some aspects more than he trusts his own." 

Hisoka raises an eyebrow, but merely responds with a courteous, empty reply, since he really, _really_ can't think of anything more productive to say. 

"I'm glad that you're his partner," Tatsumi adds quietly, and something coherent _finally_ enters Hisoka's head and he blurts it out before he can help himself. 

_"Why?"_

Tatsumi smiles at him, a sad, bitter smile, and replies, "Because you ran into the flames after him. I may have saved you both, but I would not have entered Touda's flames for him. But _you_ – you did. And for that, Kurosaki-kun, I will forever be grateful to you." 

Hisoka stares at him, unable to utter a word in reply, shocked at having the secretary grateful to him, and able to perfectly read the bitter regret etched upon Tatsumi's face. 

* * *

**f i f t e e n**

The flames are treacherous. Even Hisoka knows why Touda is such a danger to all who cross his path. But that still doesn't stop him from leaping into the ebony flames, flinching as the heat immediately engulfs him. _Strange, how the darkest flames still hold the heat of hell in them…_

If he hears Watari or Tatsumi yelling at him, he ignores them. 

Finding Tsuzuki proves harder than expected, costing Hisoka precious time that's rapidly running out. And when he does find him, it almost makes him wish that he didn't. 

Such despair, such darkness, such danger… such a sense of loathing for himself… no wonder Tsuzuki got so depressed, if this was he he regularly viewed himself. How had Hisoka been so blind to the _depth_ of this anguish? 

For several moments (_wasting time!_), he can only stare at Tsuzuki and wonder how everything had spiralled down to this. What had Muraki _done_ to make Tsuzuki want to die the Final Death this badly? 

Of course, since it was Muraki… that says it all. 

"Tsuzuki! Tsuzuki!" he calls. 

His partner raises his head to look at him, the hopelessness in his purple gaze scaring Hisoka down to his core. _No, I won't let it end like this, I won't!_ He realises that he's starting to shake and tears pool in his eyes before he can help himself, and it strikes him that this is the most he has ever cared for a person in his life. 

_I won't let him die!_

He doesn't recall when he starts running or when he flings himself into his partner's loose embrace, clinging to him for all that he's worth. "No! You can't leave me, Tsuzuki!" He burrows his face in Tsuzuki's chest, now openly weeping. 

"It doesn't matter, now, Hisoka," Tsuzuki whispers, reaching up to stroke his hair with a trembling hand. "It's better this way. I have nothing to live for like this… maybe I never had." 

"No, you're wrong!" Hisoka cries, the exhaustion in Tsuzuki's voice frightening him more than anything, even the night of his own rape. A future without Tsuzuki in it is far worse to a future with those kinds of memories still lurking in his mind. "You're wrong!" 

"No…" Tsuzuki begins, but Hisoka won't let him finish. 

"If you have nothing to live for," Hisoka cries, his tears falling even harder, now, "then live for me! I need you, Tsuzuki, so much!" 

For several moments, there is no reply – and then Tsuzuki's arms circle around him more firmly, pulling him close. Tsuzuki hugs him, whispering, "Thank you, Hisoka… thank you." 

Around them the flames burn, and neither can recall when the soft grip of the shadows encircled them and led them to safety and life. 

* * *

**s i x t e e n**

It's been a very boring day in the office, filled with tedious paperwork and ever more tedious boredom. Even Tsuzuki's patience is growing thin, much to everyone's surprise, but it doesn't stop Hisoka from being just as irritated. 

Autumn is still summer, and the air is heavy and sweltering. To everyone, it feels like they're wading through a humid blanket. The heat is, of course, driving Hisoka up the walls. 

At last, it's time to go home, much to Hisoka's relief – it's been a long day and Tsuzuki's been acting so _strange_. He tidies up with a relieved sigh, heading to the door… only to be intercepted by a smiling Watari. 

"Have a good time!" the scientist carols, as 003 hoots in agreement. 

Hisoka stares at him, an uneasy churning beginning in his stomach. "What are you _talking_ about?" he asks, but Watari merely smiles and winks, sauntering away. 

Hisoka stares after him, beginning to wish that he'd taken a half-day, when he hears approaching footsteps, and turns. Tsuzuki comes towards him, beaming, and Hisoka raises an eyebrow. 

"Hisoka!" he calls out. "Do you want to eat out?" 

"It's too hot to eat," Hisoka replies with a sigh, but Tsuzuki pouts. "How about ice-cream?" he amends. 

Tsuzuki immediately lights up and cheers, grabbing Hisoka and dragging him towards the door. "But I'm buying!" he declares sternly. 

Hisoka starts and grinds to a stop. "All right," he demands, planting his hands on his hips and glaring, "where's Tsuzuki and what have you done with him?" 

Tsuzuki laughs, a wild, joyous laugh that Hisoka hasn't heard in a long while, his eyes sparkling. "Nothing's wrong, I promise," he assures him. "But I think that I should pay, since I asked you to come." 

Hisoka's eyes narrow; Tsuzuki has never paid before, even when doing the inviting. Something's up, and he thinks he might just know what. 

_Ebony flames… ruthless… devastating…_

"Are we – are we going as friends?" Hisoka asks hesitantly, looking up at him with a sudden fear and insecurity. 

_"Live for me! I want you to live for me!"_

Tsuzuki smiles at him. "No," he replies easily with a faint smile, "I think we should go as a little more than friends, don't you?"


End file.
